


GMF

by Sparcck



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Bitty takes charge, Blow Jobs, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Kent's Hobbies Include Trying to Sabotage Any and All Chances at Happiness, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, these boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-19 23:35:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7382089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sparcck/pseuds/Sparcck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Kent swipes to another picture. In this one Eric is looking up at Jack with almost literal heart eyes, but somehow the caption says, Parson and his new Southern Gentleman on Cup Day.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Kent selflessly volunteers to fake-date Bitty to protect Jack and Bitty's relationship. Everything goes really well and there are no miscommunications or attempts at self sabotage on Kent's part at all, because he's an adult now and is definitely not carrying a torch for either one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	GMF

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jacksbits (fragilehuge)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fragilehuge/gifts).



> For [jacksbits](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fragilehuge), who requested Kent/Bitty fake dating with an eye on the threesome prize. I hope I got everything you like it in here -- I might have creepily stalked your tumblr and fell even more in love with Kent <3 Happy Birthday, Kent Parson!
> 
> Thanks as always to [koncupiscence](http://archiveofourown.org/users/koncupiscence) for the beta, for being a sounding board at all times of the day or night and also getting me into this crazy fandom in the first place!

7am and his do not disturb clicks off and there are about 75 pings from overlapping voicemails and texts.

Kent knows from experience that while the adult thing to do is to actually look at it and then call, in order, Sandy, Nicola, and Alex to see what kind of damage control he has to do today, the more satisfying thing to do is to knock his phone off the nightstand where it hits the white shag throw rug and skids under the bed.

Here’s what they don’t tell you about Being the First NHL Star to Come Out (not that anyone told him much, to be honest, since it’s right there in the title that literally no one had any experience in this and had no real idea of how it would go but honestly that’s not even the fucking point right now): The coming out part is actually the shortest part of the entire circus. Everyone alternately clutched their pearls or used you to blast the sports-industrial complex for being so behind the times for a few weeks but, fuck, you just won your third cup so not even the trolls on 4chan can say much about it and it eventually plateaus. 

The thing that lingers is the breathless speculation, the need to constantly be monitoring your private life because you now belong to the public, in a way that going first in the draft or winning three (three!) Stanley Cups or just in general being one of the best living hockey players still on the ice never translated to. 

Kent is basically tied with Taylor Swift in terms of dating rumor hysteria (she texted him when he came out GET READY KIDDO with the egg in a frying pan emoji followed by the fire emoji followed, inexplicably, by the french horn emoji, followed by a second text that said “disregard that last one, why is this even in my recents???”).

He thought he was ready. He wasn’t. Also, he thought she was one up on him anyway because those Tom Hiddleston pictures _just came out_ , the internet is so fucking fickle.

A pillow hits him in the face. “You’re angsting too loud, I’m sleeping.”

Kent chucks the pillow back at David, who is currently trying to burrow under five blankets because he insists on putting the air conditioner on arctic blast whenever he sleeps over. “It’s my apartment.”

“It’s also your phone that’s melting down with a text-alert apocalypse under the bed.”

Kent groans and scrubs two hands over his face. “Get out.”

David laughs at him, fucker, and takes the duvet with him when he gets up to open the door, mostly as a shield because— “Stay away, beast,” he snaps at Kit, who is currently wedging herself into the cracked open door and mewling in her _who me?_ voice that Kent loves so much.

She hops up on the bed and settles into the crook of Kent’s arm. He strokes the soft bit between her ears and alternates listening to David hunt for his clothes in the living room and the occasional ping of his phone from under the bed.

He figures it’s pictures of him and David from last night, because Kent had the cab let them off in front of his apartment instead of around back. Or maybe it’s rumors that he’s gonna lose the C, those were fun last year, right after he came out, all the vile shit his teammates supposedly were saying about him behind his back (stuff he still thinks about sometimes, wondering for a split second if they’re true, during mundane tasks like grocery shopping or pumping gas).

Kit swivels her head back suddenly and gnaws ferociously on his knuckles.

“Okay, okay.” He rolls over and pats around under the bed until he finds his phone, scrolling through his notifications just to see names, he’s not ready for the actual news, as Kit licks the back of his head. Sandy. Nicola. Google alerts. Jack.

Jack. Jack. 

“I’m leaving,” David yells from the living room. “Call me when it blows over.”

The best Kent can do is a loud-ish noncommittal noise, then the door slams.

Kent swipes Jack’s name and brings up his messages:

> _Zimms:_  
>  _Today 6:37am_
> 
> Are you okay?
> 
> We’re okay.
> 
> Call me when you can.

He looks at _We’re okay_ for a long time.

Well, shit.

  


#

  


“I’m sorry, can you repeat that, I must have misheard you.”

Sandy raises an eyebrow at him. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he mumbles, swiping through the photo gallery up at TMZ. It’s funny he thought Eric mostly just rolled his eyes and grudgingly laughed at some of this jokes, but in these pictures he’s…he looks happy. He’s looking at Kent like he actually likes him.

It had been his Cup Day and he wanted to share it with Jack (and Eric, fine, he’s not so bad except for the part where Kent can sometimes actually see literal icicles dripping off his words when they talk, which makes Kent goad him more, which makes Eric furious, which Kent thinks Jack secretly likes. So yeah, and Eric). He flew to Providence, John the HHF Rep in tow, and the three of them drank a margarita out of it and Kent found he really liked when Eric’s nimble fingers smoothed over the place his name was engraved, especially because he could feel Jack’s gaze on him while he did it and there was something strange and electric about the moment.

And now he’s looking at evidence that even when he’s not actively ruining his own life by being irresponsible, bad things can still happen, and the only saving grace is that somehow, someway, instead of accidentally outing Jack Zimmermann and his secret boyfriend, people think said secret boyfriend belongs to him.

He had actually called his agent, Nicola, first, because she’s been with him the longest (excluding Jack, of course, but Jack is a fucking outlier forever in all things and should never be counted.). 

She seemed to think it’s not that big a deal, but if they don’t get out ahead of it it’ll spiral. Which sounded like she’d already been talking to Sandy, the Aces GM, which, obviously.

“Spiral into what?” Kent crammed his phone against his ear and poked a fork at a plate of pizza rolls he made (the organic ones because they have less sugar, yes, he does enjoy eating food packaged for the children of hipsters) because he definitely has a combo stress/hangover headache and he knows he needs to eat but suddenly they look, and make him feel, pathetic.

Nicola sighed. “You know how this goes, Kent. The initial pap shots were innocent enough, but the top two threads on Datalounge are all accounts of you and this boy and the secret messages coded into your clothes and the search is on for more about you two.”

Kent smushed a roll with the back of his fork. It’s not his fault he and Eric had both been wearing stripes that day.

“So can you turn off Chopped and call Sandy, please?”

“I am not watching Chopped for God’s sake,” Kent said, deliberately not reaching for the remote to turn off Chopped, where Alex Guarnaschelli is currently giving a weak-kneed contestant the side-eye.

But he had called Sandy, which is how he ended up in her office with her saying crazy things like, “Kent, if there’s something going on with this boy, maybe this isn’t the worst thing that could happen.”

“First of all,” Kent says, swiping to another picture. In this one Eric is looking up at Jack with almost literal heart eyes, but somehow the caption says, Parson and his new Southern Gentleman on Cup Day, “Eric Bittle is an adult, so can people stop referring to him as a boy, it’s weird. And homophobic.”

“You’re both boys to me, and not because you’re gay,” she says and Kent laughs. Her middle-aged hockey mom routine is one of his favorites. “Is there a second of all?”

Kent puts the iPad down. “Second of all, there’s nothing going on with _this boy_ , or any boy. I casually date, just like half of the other guys do, and that’s it.”

“But if you _were_ dating,” Sandy says.

“This seems insulting on many levels.”

Sandy perches on the desk next to him and slides the iPad out of the way. “Listen, this was going to happen sooner or later. All I’m saying is that if you and Eric are dating, we can handle it. You can’t put off happiness because you don’t want to deal with TMZ.”

“You’re not my shrink,” Kent grumbles, because it’s starting to sound less crazy, which makes it go all the way back around to cray again.

“No,” she says gently. “Have you called him yet?”

Kent knows she’s not talking about Jack, but when he says, “No, but I’m going to,” that’s who he means.

  


#

  


Kent had wanted this Cup day to go better than the last one.

The last one, the one where he spent it all flying to Massachusetts and stuck in Boston traffic and making small talk with frat guys that Kent grudgingly likes despite being his literal replacements in Jack’s life, before Jack got home from class and they screamed at each other for what seemed like really valid reasons at the time but now Kent can’t even remember the specifics, just the hot itch inside his skin that was some combination of jealousy and regret and the shame of how he’d thought the day would go versus reality because he's clearly in denial about what their actual relationship was.

Which. Of course he was. It was the only thing that got him through that first year, that Jack just needed space, that Jack thought about him as much as he thought about Jack, that Jack wanted the same things he wanted. 

That Jack always had. 

He had started therapy even before Jack finally responded to one of Kent’s possibly one million creeper texts, and he wishes he could say it’s not the memory of Jack’s little wry smile over lunch when they shared awkward therapist stories that keeps him going back even when he hates it and he would rather stay home, but. 

He knows now Jack probably never really wanted what Kent wanted. Or, really, that Jack wasn’t in a position to know what on earth either of them wanted. He knows now that he pushed too hard, because he thought Jack wanted to be pushed (and he did, but maybe not in the ways Kent knew how to push). 

He knows all that. But.

It’s been almost a year since that first lunch, a year of texting and instagram comments and the occasional long e-mail from Jack about what books he’s been reading. A year of dinners when one or the other is in town, and even an invitation to Christmas from Jack’s parents.

A year of Eric Bittle maybe starting to consider revising his opinion that Kent is The Worst through about 3000 snarky twitter messages back and forth.

The thing is, if it weren’t for Jack, Kent thinks he and Eric would really get along (well, no, it’s not Jack’s fault — hey, the expensive therapy is working — it’s that Kent hasn’t been able to let him go). But Kent likes Eric — he’s sarcastic and sweet at the same time, he’s got a great sense of style, and he’s confident in a way that Kent really admires/is turned on by, let’s be real. 

Also, he falls in the exact point somewhere between cute and sexy that usually makes Kent need to engage. 

But Eric…well, he doesn’t hate him anymore, but certainly hasn’t warmed up to him. And Kent guesses he can’t blame him, considering Kent is still excruciatingly in love with his boyfriend in a way that is probably pretty obvious, and also Eric had the benefit of meeting him at one of his possibly lowest moments ever.

He thinks about the second visit to Samwell a lot. He thinks about seeing Jack and Eric together, Jack’s cheeks a little ruddy and this cute-and-gay-as-fuck blond kid in a deep-v shirt (Kent still pictures him wearing that shirt when he pictures him, which he does sometimes, he’s not ashamed to admit) staring up at him with a look Kent had felt on his own face when he was a kid and falling in love with Jack Zimmermann.

He thinks about the way Jack was flirting, in his own way, and he smiled to cover up his rage because his lizard brain identified this boy as the reason Jack was considering the Falconers — and Kent needed Jack to only consider him when he thought about who he wanted to play hockey with, because, he knows now, he needed Jack’s validation and had been searching for it since the day of the draft.

Also, did he mention the part where he was still crushingly in love? That part, too.

Up in Jack’s room, Jack softened a bit, and the vice that had tightened around Kent’s chest when he saw their dark and light heads bent together eased a little because it was just them, just talking hockey. Jack sat on his bed and let Kent sit next to him and didn’t move away, even when Kent took his hat off, even when Kent leaned in to kiss him.

Jack’s tongue in his mouth and his big hands pulling Kent’s shirt from his waistband — he was thicker than Kent remembered, padded muscles on his shoulders and back. He guided Jack onto his back and his hands went to the button on Jack’s jeans where Jack’s cock was pushing against the fly and Jack broke away, breathing heavy.

“Kenny,” he said, and Kent’s heart broke even as it leapt up into his throat. “I can’t do this.”

Kent licked his lips and tried to corral his heart rate, looking down into Jack’s crazy blue eyes, his pupils huge and blown out. “Jack, come on,” he remembers saying, and he hates this part when he thinks about it. Tries to not think about it but somehow he ends up thinking about it more than the good part, the minute where Jack maybe loved him back.

Kent smoothed his hand through Jack’s hair, down over his chest, and nipped the underside of his chin, the place that used to make Jack beg. He smelled like himself still, salt and the same deodorant he always used, and from where Kent was sitting, he could feel Jack’s heart race.

The next time Jack said Kenny it made Kent so angry, at Jack and at himself and he felt that same hot itch from the last time; his insides felt like crumbled old paper that just needed a spark, and he dredged up all the awful shit he knew would make Jack feel bad, would burn Jack up inside, too, shit Kent doesn’t even believe but in that moment he did.

No, he said one true thing: I miss you. And Jack’s easy disbelief lit the kindling that turned Kent into a bomb.

So yeah. Definitely not his finest moment to open the door to see the cute blond kid — one Eric Bittle — staring up at him with a mixture of shock and disgust on his face. 

He thought for a long time that Jack and Eric would break up, but they didn’t. Jack didn’t come out. Eric’s twitter didn’t subtweet unhappiness. They were just. Together.

So Kent tried to get over it. 

Which brings him to now, and yes, he was actually going to make this phone call:

Eric Bittle, let’s date.

  


#

  


Jack laughs, because he can do that now, about things that probably deserve more serious treatment, when Kent explains the situation.

“I’m sorry, you want to fake-date Bittle?”

Kent is sitting in his car in the parking lot of a strip mall in Old Vegas. A kid comes out of Winchell’s with a giant bag of donuts, a bear claw clenched in his teeth. “I know it sounds insane.”

“To want to date Bittle? I don’t think so.”

Kent doesn’t succeed in not rolling his eyes. “When did you get so funny, huh?”

Jack laughs. “You always thought I was funny.”

Kent bites the inside of his cheek. “Listen, this is going to get scrutinized to death, and I don’t want to be the reason you get outed. So I say we’re dating, no one looks at those pictures or your Disney movie smitten faces ever again, and no one will ever be able to put it together.” 

He pauses and remembers the ice in the pit of his stomach every time he ever picked up, every time he so much as smiled at a guy at a bar or on the street, every time a guy he was getting along with suggested they go back to his — that this was the time the paps would be around, that this was the time he’d wake up to a Deadspin headline outing him. 

He was tired of being terrified and he was tired of being lonely. 

He’s sure the Aces could stand with a little less aggressive displays of gayness when they’re out, but they’ve never said anything and Kent’s not doing anything the other single guys on the team don’t do. Except bring dates anywhere, he’s never done that.

“Kenny—“ 

“Zimms.”

Jack is quiet for a moment. “If I get outed Kenny, it won’t be your fault.”

Something squirms in Kent’s gut. “You say that now.”

“I’ll say it as many times as you need to believe it. Bittle and I knew what we were getting into, and we’ll deal with whatever happens.”

“Can you just let me do this for you, please?

Jack huffs out a sigh that Kent knows he thinks isn’t as loud as it actually is. Even his frustration is fucking Canadian. “Is this really for me?”

Kent really wants a donut. Whenever he’s stressed his sweet tooth comes out like crazy, and his sweet tooth usually wants some gross shit like probably-stale donuts or poptarts or something and right now he wants a massive strawberry jelly donut. “I dunno, Jack. Mostly? But yeah, it also might be nice to have a guy on my arm at least once in a while to one of these things, and no matter when it happens it’s gonna be awful and hard and it’ll probably ruin any chance of actually having a relationship. But everyone thinks we’re dating anyway so fuck it. And Eric can talk hockey, so his soul won’t be crushed when he has to make smalltalk over champagne with sponsors.”

Jack doesn’t say anything.

“ _Also,_ you know, you guys would get to hang out at some industry stuff, if we were dating. Get your pictures taken in tuxes and get drunk off free booze and no one would ever know.”

Kent can picture the little line between Jack’s sad eyes as he tries to figure out how to interact with Kent’s info dump. “All this said, you know it’s not me you have to ask. I’m his boyfriend, not his chaperone. I can’t give you _permission_ , or whatever it is you’re looking for.”

“He’ll say no.”

“So he says no. That’s not up to me.”

Kent grinds his teeth and doesn’t say, _but he hates me_ , like he’s 6 years old. 

“Just. Go get some donuts and call him.”

“Don’t boss me.”

“Ken—“ Kent stabs the red end button and chucks the phone on the passenger seat. 

  


#

  


In the end, it’s pretty anti-climactic.

“Okay,” Eric says, after Kent lays it all out to him totally rationally and not at all like he’s completely desperate because now the idea is stuck in his head and also for other reasons he can’t quite deal with at the moment.

“What?”

Eric tsks a little. “I said okay.”

“I know you guys said you’d be okay if anything happened but—“

“Listen, Kent, I read Datalounge. You could use a good influence in your romantic life. Just accept the yes.”

Kent stuffs half a donut in his mouth. “That was easy.”

He can almost hear Eric narrowing his eyes over the phone. “Sweet summer child, you have no idea how _not_ _easy_ I can make this if I so choose.”

Kent hopes his grin comes through down the line. “So…Tasting Counter for our first public date?”

Eric’s laugh is low and husky and a laugh that Kent has never heard before. “It’s a start.”

  


#

  


Here are true things about his decision to ask Eric and Jack if they would go along with this:

1\. Kent can’t be responsible for the collapse of Jack’s mental health, even if it had nothing to do with being gay in the NHL, which is, obviously, something near and dear to Kent’s heart. He cannot let Jack go through what he went through all those years ago, a thing his therapist has finally convinced him wasn’t his fault, but also a thing he can now admit he contributed to, however unknowingly.

2\. He’s tired of every article being about what a huge player he is, and he’s tired of being alone at every hockey function, all the way down to team parties. 

3\. He just wants Eric to like him. Maybe if Eric likes him, Jack will think he’s actually likable.

4\. Maybe he can figure out what makes their relationship tick. Maybe if he can figure that out, then…then.

5 - infinity: He’s mostly still a shitty human. But he’s trying.

  


#

  


Kent decides to stay in Boston for a few weeks, to cement the whole thing.

Their first date is actually at Annie’s, one of those trying hard to not look like they’re trying hard hip university cafes, with overly complicated coffees and no sandwiches with normal cheese on them. 

Eric orders the sweetest coffee on the menu and Kent holds out for zero point two seconds before saying, “Same, please,” even though he told himself he’d just get a black coffee or an espresso or whatever nasty thing Jack would probably get. He tries to at least hold out on the whipped cream, but Eric sees him hemming and hawing and sighs, “Extra on his,” gifting the barista with a rueful grin that says, ‘can’t live with ‘em, right?’ and the barista smiles back, spraying roughly half a can of whipped cream on Kent’s coffee.

“How hard is it to just ask for what you want?” Eric says, snagging a corner table that’s out of the way but not obstructing the view of the rest of the cafe. 

Kent weighs actually answering against licking the edge of his cup and winking at the barista and opts for the latter which punches a disgusted snort out of Eric as he takes a sip of his own concoction.

The truth is Kent doesn’t generally need to ask for what he wants, he’s set up his life to avoid that as much as possible. Makes getting “no” as an answer less of a risk.

“Seriously, though.”

Kent sighs. “Seriously, why should I? What good is all this money and fame if I just have to ask people for things anyway?”

Eric frowns. “That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“ _Ever?”_ Kent says. “I doubt that.”

“It’s up there.”

Across from them, Kent can see someone taking a “surreptitious” picture of their table. Eric had suggested Annie’s because he thought something seemingly normal would be good for them, as well as putting them in a place where the Venn Diagram of people who can use social media and people who know who Kent Parson is would have the greatest overlap. “We’ve got three months until you’re back to training,” he had said when Kent called to make plans. “Let’s make them count.”

“You’re one to talk,” Kent says, dipping a finger into Eric’s whipped cream. 

Eric smacks his hand faster than Kent can pull away. “Stop that.”

“Damn you’re fast.” Kent licks his finger and then points at Eric with it. “But you come across all sweet and innocent, but you know how to manipulate a situation to your benefit.”

Color stains Eric cheeks, but he also smiles this little private smile that makes Kent shift in his seat. “The best Southern Belles always do.”

Kent spies a Mark Bowden book peeking out of Eric’s backpack under the table. He nods to it. “You like Bowden?”

Eric nods. “Jack got me into him — I mean, I’m not a huge history buff, not like Jack, but I like the way he writes about things like he was there.”

“Jack _hated_ him when I first gave him one of his books! He said he couldn’t tell what was real and what was fake.”

“ _You_ got Jack into Bowden?”

Kent raises an eyebrow. “I got Jack into history, period. Jack was super knowledgeable about Canadian history but he sort of…tended to dismiss things he didn’t find relevant to his current worldview.”

Eric shakes his head with a little wry smile. “Gosh, that doesn’t sound at all like the Jack I know, who doesn’t get obsessed with the minutia of one little tiny thing without seeing the context around it.”

Kent laughs and Eric tips his head to the side. “You are an enigma, Kent Parson.”

“Because I’m not a dummy?”

“Because you let people think you are.”

Kent shrugs. “Sometimes it’s easier that way.”

Eric makes a noncommittal noise but his eyes seem all-knowing. Kent valiantly doesn’t squirm under the scrutiny.

“So what do you think of my sneakers?” Kent says to change the subject and Eric lets him.

  


  


Thus follows a week of Eric retweeting pics of them on their date, and soliciting opinion on Kent’s footwear:

@omgcheckplease: Are gold sneakers acceptable for a casual date on a college campus, n/n

@TheOnlyKentParson: They’re Gucci!

@omgcheckplease: @TheOnlyKentParson That doesn’t make it better, Kenneth.

  


  


Their next date is almost a wash, in Boston at Toro, because Kent can get reservations even at a joint that doesn’t take reservations and he thinks that merits him at least a half hour of Eric Not Thinking He’s An Insufferable Asshole, but in reality it’s about ten minutes before their first argument. 

“You think Jen should give him another chance???” 

Kent can pretty much see all three question marks in Eric’s wide, incredulous eyes and he desperately tries to backtrack. It seemed like a fun discussion until it suddenly wasn’t. “Look, I’m not saying he didn’t fuck up, but I’ve met him a few times—“

“Because he’s got a gambling addiction.”

“I know, I’m not saying he doesn’t, I’m just saying he’s got issues but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t love her.”

“That’s not actually the be all end all in a relationship.” Eric takes a huge glug of his Nantucket Mule. “I bet you liked that last Superman movie, too.”

Kent wrinkles his nose. “C’mon, man. I mean, Wonder Woman was cool, though.”

Slightly mollified, Eric’s mouth pulls itself into an adorable little moue and Kent has to bite his lip because he’ll get into a thousand arguments if he makes that face at the end of all of them. 

Just then, their first plates arrive: octopus and potatoes, oysters, and crusty bread with tomatoes, garlic, and anchovies.

Kent clears his throat, “Did I ever tell you about the time I got really drunk in Barcelona and ended up at a gay circus-themed club at 4 in the morning eating a tuna sandwich from a gas station?”

Eric laughs and Kent thinks things are looking up.

  


  


Until their third date, which is a disaster. 

Technically, they don’t even make it all the way onto the date and it isn’t even his fault, it’s TMZ, who follow them down the street with a video camera and some skinny guy with complicated hair shoving a microphone in Kent’s face. 

Eric does his Southern oh gosh routine but then the guy starts asking about Jack and Eric’s face goes strange, his smile carved into stone, and Kent pushes the camera guy away with more force than is probably necessary. 

The camera swings back around and Kent winks into it before pulling hard on the display screen, snapping it off the camera. 

Eric grabs his arm. “Kent, stop.”

“That was a $5000 camera, asshole!” the camera guy says.

Kent laughs. “Nice toy. Send my agent a bill, and if I see you again I’ll sue the shit out of you.”

Kent’s shaking by the time his driver pulls around to get them, and Eric is small and silent. He wants to apologize, but he’s not even sure what he would apologize for. 

“Why are you doing this, Kent?” Eric finally says, as the car is pulling up in front of the Haus, “Why are you really doing this?” He doesn’t look at him.

Kent doesn’t know what to say — there’s his list of true things, but Eric probably doesn’t want to hear the majority of it (though at this point, he’d probably agree with numbers 5-infinity). 

“Just loving someone isn’t always enough,” Eric says quietly and gets out of the car.

Kent hunches against the window. Stupid Ben Affleck.

  


  


Eric agrees to another public date, and neither of them address the rumors that circulate for two point five seconds after the release of the TMZ video, just before another Taylor Swift and Tom Hiddleston sighting knocks them out of the spotlight. 

> _Eric Bittle:_  
>  _Yesterday 9:08pm_
> 
> Like I always say…
> 
>       Thank God for Taylor Swift?
> 
> <3<3<3

“This would have been place-appropriate for your Gucci sneakers, you know,” Eric says. They’ve finally made it to the Tasting Counter, and Eric is delicately twining seaweed pasta onto his fork.

Kent looks at his Tom Ford brogues. “I think these work better with the suit.”

“Mm, you clean up nice.”

Kent grins. 

“I _guess_ ,” Eric amends with a half smirk.

“So do you still work at the LGBTQ Alliance on campus?” Kent asks. 

“Yup. I’m basically social chair for the group, organize rallies and parties, do intake with incoming students, help them find groups or activities they might like, other like-minded people.” He looks down for a second, pushing a piece of bread around in the broth in his bowl. “I wish we had that when I started.”

Kent never really thought about Eric actually coming out. But of course he would have at some point. He wonders if they’ve ever talked about it, that Eric had to get past all these hurdles that Jack had decided he was going to put off. 

He’s seen Eric play, he knows he’s strong and fast and resilient. But he thinks about him on campus, taking care of a house full of hockey players, going on his first dates after coming out, growing into a man who wants to help other kids like him so they won’t be so scared. 

His perception of Eric as the skinny boy in the blue sweatshirt flirting terribly with Jack shifts suddenly into the perfectly composed compact man sitting in front of him.

Kent clears his throat. “Was it hard? With the team?”

Eric smiles wryly at him. “You tell me.”

Kent snorts a laugh into his wine glass. “You wanna come onboard as my social chair?”

“Why Mr. Parson, what on earth do you think I’ve been doing here?” Eric drawls and signals for another glass of wine. 

Eric is incredibly knowledgeable about food and wine in general, not just baking. He gets into an animated discussion with the chef about the merits of beef suet and Kent enjoys watching him get all hot under the collar at someone else for a change. 

His face is animated with spots of color high on his cheeks, and his eyebrows are drawn severely over his dark eyes. He’s stabbing the air with one finger and rattling off numbers and chef’s names with authority. 

The woman sitting to Kent’s left leans into him. “What date is this?”

“Four,” Kent murmurs.

“Perfect timing for the thunder strike,” she says, and her date laughs and shakes her head. 

Kent blinks. “What?”

“You’re struck bad, my friend.”

“Leave him alone, Amanda,” the other woman scolds and Amanda shrugs and leans back into her. 

Eric glances at Kent, still talking about butter or bone broth or whatever and lifts one shoulder in a shrug and Kent blinks back stupidly.

“Sorry,” Eric excuses himself to the chef, and he strokes his fingers lightly against the back of Kent’s hand. “He’s very needy.” He gives Kent a little wink and quickly swipes his tongue against his lower lip.

He suddenly and mercilessly pictures Jack’s dick sliding into that mouth, Jack sliding his big hands into Eric’s hair, Eric’s eyes closing at he drools around it. He flashes to Eric on his knees, looking up at him, but the look on his face is very different than it was last time.

Kent gives himself a jolt. Fuck. 

Eric is looking at him like he knows what he’s thinking, but he can’t possibly. Or maybe he does. Kent can’t ever tell with him, which is half of why he likes him so much, and half of why he wishes Jack were dating anyone else on the planet except for him.

Kent thought he knew why, but now he’s not so sure.

Oh. Shit.

  


#

  


So he has a little crush. So what. He just needs a little air.

  


#

  


Kent goes back to Vegas for a week, checks in on Kit, who is furious with him and suddenly loves David and David laughs smugly in his face about it. He also doesn’t ask about Eric, but there are enough Raised Eyebrows and Significant Looks that Kent Steadfastly Ignores that he feels like they had a good talk about it.

Kent flies back for the weekend, and he and Eric go out for their sixth technical date. Kent drives like they're just normal people on a date and they go to a shitty bar and eat too many wings. Later, Kent drops him off at the Haus and Eric pops the car door but doesn’t open it. “You gonna walk me to the door or what?”

It’s a humid night and Kent’s shirt immediately sticks to his back as they come up the walk. After all these years in Vegas, he’s not really equipped to deal with the humidity anymore, a huge change from when he first moved and he thought all his skin would flake off from how dry everything was.

On the second step, Eric turns around to look at him. “When are you back in town?”

“I could come back in two weeks. I have a few meetings, but after that I’m pretty free until the season starts.” His heart is pounding and he’s not sure why. “And maybe you could find some time to come out to Vegas? Take a vacation?”

Eric frowns, thinking. “Just me? Or me and Jack?”

“You and Jack. Or just you. Whatever’s easier for you guys.”

“But what do you want?” Eric’s brown eyes are almost black in the sodium yellow glow of the porch light, and Kent has no idea what he’s supposed to say.

After a minute, Eric takes pity on him. “Lemme talk to Jack.” He goes up one more step and they’re the same height. “I had a really fun night. I had no idea you were so good at Buckhunter.”

Kent laughs, a little shakily. “I was just trying to keep up. Should have known, Georgia.”

Eric winks dramatically and tips a hat, before leaning in to kiss his cheek. 

Kent’s wires are all tangled up, it’s the only explanation for him turning his head and letting his mouth slide onto Eric’s.

And then Eric’s tongue is there, licking delicately at Kent’s lower lip, so Kent opens his mouth and lets him in. 

It’s fucking sparks and heat and a rushing in his ears and Kent finds Eric’s hips, helps him walk backwards up the last step to press his body against the support pillar. Eric surges against him, pushing up into Kent’s thigh, into his mouth, fingertips skidding over the slick dip of the small of Kent’s back. 

Eric kisses like he fucking knows how to kiss, like he’s trying to make Kent forget anyone else who’s ever kissed him, and it’s working. Kent wants to give him back the same, and he tilts his head a little, runs his tongue slow and deep over Eric’s.

“Bits,” Kent breathes, coming up for air, then freezes.

Shit.

Eric’s face is hot and flushed, his hair sticking up crazily in the back. He smiles gently up at Kent and says, low, ressuring, “Easy.”

Kent must look a goddamn mess. His heart is battering against his throat and he’s rock hard in his jeans and he can hardly catch a breath.

“LAX bros,” Eric says, nodding over Kent’s shoulder, and when Kent turns to look there are two guys with iphones hanging out the top floor. 

“Oh,” Kent says, and tries to rearrange the reality of what just happening. “Right.”

It wasn’t real. Eric kissed him back because there were cameras and witnesses. Kent kissed him first, right? Does Eric think he knew? Was there a signal Kent missed?

“You okay?”

Kent forces a laugh. “Of course, yeah. Damn, Eric.”

Eric laughs back, easy as pie. “Good to know I haven’t lost my touch. Text when you get in, have a safe flight.”

“See ya.”

Kent climbs back into his car and starts it and just sits for a second, willing his hands to stop shaking. He cranes his head to look out his window and sees Eric framed in his, a smudge of blue sweatshirt through the warped glass, the humidity, and the glaze of shame Kent can’t quite blink away.

  


#

  


The thing is, somehow this has made Kent and Jack even closer. They talk more on the phone, Jack actually texts him back in a reasonable timeframe. They’ve been gifting each other kindle books for the last two months and Kent has loved seeing the world through Jack’s eyes, what he’s reading, what he’s interested in now, how his views have changed since they were kids. 

It’s not weird that he’s dating Jack’s boyfriend. It seems…normal. Jack asks about their dates and fills him in on Eric’s version of events that he rants about when he gets home. 

They argue, of course, about books or hockey, mostly hockey, but Kent has learned how to push just enough, something he’s not sure Eric knows how to do.

(Though Jack had alluded to Eric being good at pushing at the right times and when Kent teased him about adding the words “in bed”, Jack agreed in that way that Kent couldn’t tell if he was joking or not and Kent jerked off that night thinking about it:

Thinking about the things Jack wanted when they were kids that Kent didn’t really know how to do right, imagining Eric doing it right, Jack on his knees, Jack spread out and helpless, Eric pushing just enough and then a little more and Kent came so hard it was almost painful.)

But Kent doesn’t have a lot of close friends so he’s confused because he suddenly seems to have two boyfriends but that can’t be right. This was for show only, it’s Kent that had to make it overly complicated, his specialty. 

So he talks to Jack in the middle of the night when he can’t sleep, and he takes Eric to breakfast when Jack is working out and they hang out together or separately and they know way too much about him but Kent can’t seem to help himself. 

They’re pulling him slowly into their orbit, but they don’t realize that he’s a fucking meteor and they’re the dinosaurs. 

  


#

  


Both Kent and Jack are asked to participate in the Hockey Heroes fundraiser, and they spent most of the week getting ready by watching Eric flail at the thought of wearing a tux, forcing them to sit through a pinterest slide show of all the looks Eric thought would work for him.

“Check your boy,” Kent had said, idly scrolling through his twitter feed.

Jack was measuring protein powder into a blender. “He’s your boy right now, man. You wanna take him shopping?”

Eric lobbed a pillow at him from the couch, which Jack ducked neatly. Rows upon rows of tiny post-it notes stuck to the fridge fluttered in the passing breeze. Kent saw them last time he was here and thought they were a little cliched. Now he kinda can’t look at them. 

They had ended up going shopping, Eric snapping pictures to Jack for approval, which was useless seeing as Jack considered a tux to be one thing, black suit over white shirt with bowtie, the end. 

“That one,” Kent said, when Eric came out wearing the blue waffle-pattern Tom Ford, with black lapels.

“It’s so shiny,” Eric breathed, petting the fabric. 

“You’re perfect,” Kent said firmly, and Eric jerked his head around.

They stared at each other for a second, a blush creeping up Eric’s neck and blooming on his cheeks, before Eric laughed a little. “Can you say that again, right into my phone please?”

A week later they’re in Toronto, playing a charity game alongside donors, and they put Kent and Jack on the same line, for old time’s sake, much to everyone’s delight.

It’s fucking amazing, playing next to Jack, and they still have it, like the last eight years never happened, and it’s just as heart-breaking as it is later, when Kent is wearing a tux with a guy on his arm who is charming the shit out of every single donor, and realizing that his little crush might actually be a massive fucking problem.

It’s not just that Eric is perfect for him — Eric made a mix for them to listen to on the plane and it was basically every song that Kent loved from the last two years — or that Eric is cute-gorgeous which is grossly unfair, or that he’s so passionate about everything he talks about, from food to hockey to You Can Play, which he basically should be the spokesperson for since every single donor wants to talk to him about it and he’s probably solicited more donations for them in one night than they get in six months.

It’s not just that he draws Kent into the conversations easily, or that Kent is having the most fun he’s ever had at one of these things, where people are actually treating him like a human person with a brain instead of a blow-up hockey doll.

It’s all of those things, but it’s also the little glances Eric keeps giving him that seem really sincere, that Kent has convinced himself look like the heart eyes he has for Jack whenever they can steal a few minutes to talk, casually of course, their heads bent together over a plate of blinis. It’s that Kent’s heart dive bombs his feet when he sees Eric casually brush his hand over Jack’s shoulder, or fix his bowtie, or when Jack laughs, a deep, rich laugh that still startles Kent. 

It’s that Jack looks happy. And Eric looks happy. 

And Kent is screwed.

  


  


“Come dance with me,” Eric begs later, when they’re out at Uniun at midnight, halfway to hammered. Eric has ditched his jacket somewhere and his tie is dangling untied around his neck, where his tux shirt has somehow been unbuttoned halfway down his chest. 

Jack is struggling to button him back up. “How did this even happen?”

“‘M’hot,” Eric whines and behind him a guy passing with two drinks says, “Yeah, you are,” before backing away from the combined nuclear heat of Jack and Kent’s glare.

Jack laughs. “Go dance with him before he finds someone else to dance with then we’ll never get him home.”

Kent is behind Eric in drunkenness, but not so far, to be honest, and he’s suddenly literally sweating under his collar. “Are you sure?”

“He’s your boyfriend, too, Kent,” Jack says, and it’s probably because Kent is drunk that it doesn’t sound like a joke. 

Which is how Kent finds himself on the dance floor with Eric Bittle mashed up against him, laughing and pushing his sweat-darkened hair back from his eyes. 

Kent puts his mouth against Eric’s ear. “Jack teach you to dance like this?”

Eric gives him a ‘please’ face. “Kent, Jack wasn’t my first go round, you know that, right?”

“I—“ Kent did not know that. 

Eric’s half-smile blooms into a full on smirk. “Lemme show you what else he didn’t teach me.” He turns, shimmying his ass along Kent’s thighs. 

“Fuck,” Kent breathes and Eric makes an agreeable noise so Kent goes along with it, pulling Eric’s right arm up and guiding his hand to Kent’s nape, so Kent can turn his head and mouth his bicep through the thin silk of his shirt. He puts a hand low on Eric’s belly and Eric’s head falls back on Kent’s shoulder. 

“Is this—“ Kent says into Eric’s ear, nuzzling the soft skin behind it. “Can I?”

“Yeah, yes,” Eric says and tilts his head a little to give him access.

Kent is burning up, but so is Eric, his cheeks pink and his skin humid from Kent’s breath. 

“Look up,” Eric murmurs, and Kent knows exactly where he’s directing him.

Jack.

Jack is sprawled back against the banquette of their booth, staring at them with an expression that Kent can really only classify as stormy.

Kent jerks back, but Eric’s hand tightens on his nape. “No, no, look again.”

Jack’s hair is sticking up, like he’s run his hands through it, and his brows are drawn severely over his eyes, which Kent imagines he can see glittering from here. They look almost black from this distance, all the blue eaten up by the strobe lights and his blown out pupils. His tie is gone, his shirt is unbuttoned to the third button, and his hand is resting on his thigh, where his suit jacket is draped over his lap. 

He licks his lips, and he’s looking right at Kent.

Oh.

Eric turns to look at him. “What do you want, Kent?”

He’s starting to hate that question, because he doesn’t understand why Eric keeps asking him. He knows what Eric wants to hear, but he knows it’s not what Kent is actually going to say.

Kent smiles weakly. “I’m exhausted,” he says, and Eric sighs. 

“Okay, let’s go collect our boy and head back.”

  


#

  


The idea was that Eric would go to Vegas with Kent from Toronto, because the Falcs wanted Jack at training camp with the rookies. 

It was perfect or terrible timing, depending on who you asked. 

They have lunch on the strip (“Ooh, Shake Shack!” Eric said when they passed New York, New York, and he wolfed down a double cheeseburger and a concrete. Kent picked at some fries.) before taking a drive through the surrounding desert, something Eric has never seen before. 

It’s agonizing because if Kent lets himself forget this isn’t real, driving around with Eric and talking about nothing is one of the best days he’s had in a really long time.

“You okay?” Eric asks later that night, back at Kent’s place. Kit is curled up on Eric’s lap, of course. 

Traitor.

Kent nods. “You mind if we stay in tonight?”

“Sure! I just—thought you wanted people to see us on your home turf?”

Kent rolls his eyes and grabs his phone. He tweets “Staying in with my boy @omgcheckplease tonight, see you tomorrow, Vegas!”

Eric’s phone pings and Kit hops off his lap. He glances at it then up at Kent with a frown. “C’mon, Kenny.”

An iceberg takes up residence in Kent’s chest. “We’re not really dating, _Bits_.”

Eric is quiet for a moment. “Do you want us to be dating?”

“That’s not fair.”

“Why not?”

“Because this is stupid! You and Jack are already dating.” He resists putting air quotes around dating, because he’s actually grown, a little at least, as a human being.

“I know. But what do you do want?”

Kent runs both hands through his hair. “Why do you keep asking me that?”

“Because you need to be honest with yourself!”

“You mean _you_?”

Eric makes a noise of frustration. “Yes also me. And Jack. But mostly you. Why is it so hard for you to just say it?”

“Why do you think it’s so easy? You and Jack talk about everything, I guess?”

“We do. We try to, anyway.”

“So you told him all about me kissing you?”

Eric shifts closer. “And me kissing you back, yeah.”

Kent feels himself deflate on the inside but he stays hard on the outside. “And?”

“And he asked how it was.” Eric smiles, tentatively. “I was honest with him and said it was amazing and I wanted to do it again.”

Kent wants to be better, he knows he’s been better and has the capability of being better still. But instead, he bares his teeth at Eric. “Right, right, you guys are so _honest_ with each other all the time.”

Eric frowns. “What does that even mean?”

Kent sits on the arm of the couch and leans over him. “It means you came to Samwell to be out, to meet other gay people, to fucking counsel baby gays and help them get comfortable in their own skin.”

Eric’s eyes flash. “Kent,” he warns, but Kent plows ahead.

“And what do you do? Get into a relationship with the last guy on Earth who’s ever going to come out and be public with you. Wait and wait and wait for two years because Jack Fucking Zimmermann says he loves you and one day he’ll come out and it’ll all be worth it.”

“Jack does love me.”

“And you said yourself that just loving someone isn’t always enough.”

Eric leans forward. “Kent, you’re confusing a ton of issues — Jack and I will come out when we’re ready and not before. We’ve talked about it, we’re okay with it. But that’s separate from what we’re doing here, the three of us.”

Kent can’t hear that, _the three of us_. “He’ll never be ready! Jack could barely even acknowledge either one of us were gay when we were in the Q, and we were fucking each other.”

Eric doesn’t blink. “He was 16.”

“So was I! He’s never going to give you what you want! You think when he retires and becomes a GM he’ll come out?”

“Maybe.”

Kent blinks at him and laughs a little. “How can you be so calm about this?”

“Kent.” Eric moves closer and puts a hand on Kent’s knee. 

It’s a nice hand. Capable and strong, slender fingers and big knobs for knuckles.

“Kent,” he says again. “This isn’t about me and Jack. I mean, it is, but not the way you’re making it. I know you started this for Jack, because you’re still in love with him. But what do you want now?”

“ _You’re_ only doing this for Jack,” Kent says mutinously, miserably, feeling himself starting to shut down. 

“I was,” he says simply.

“So what do you even care?”

“You’re not listening to me. What do you want?”

Kent looks at the opposite wall, and his eyes and insides feel hot and dry. 

What does he want. He wants Jack to have loved him back when they were kids, he wants Eric to see that Kent could be enough for him, he wants to believe that this could work, somehow, with the three of them, but it’s just not fucking possible and he thinks they should know that, too. 

Kent will never be able to forgive himself for what happened with him and Jack. Eric will never love Kent as much as he loves Jack. And hockey isn’t ready for an open poly relationship. 

“I think you should go. I’ll call a Lyft to bring you to a nice hotel.”

“Kent…”

“Maybe it’s time for a good break-up story, anyway, before the season starts.”

Eric is quiet and when he looks up at Kent, his eyes are wet. “Is this what you want?”

Kent is still really good at lying, he’s had a lot of practice.

So three minutes later, a Lyft comes and Eric gets in and then it’s just Kent and Kit again. 

It’s better this way.

  


#

  


Kent stops tweeting for a week and apparently that’s enough for the gossip machine. Tons of headlines on TMZ, threads on Datalounge, and a quick piece on Deadspin speculating that Aces PR banned him from twitter and what that might mean for the Aces roster and specifically for his captaincy. 

He stalks Eric on twitter and Jack on instagram and it seems like life has moved on for them, except for a broken heart emoji that Eric tweeted and deleted that first night. He waits for someone to have seen it or screengrabbed but there’s nothing, and after a while, Kent begins to think maybe he’s imagined it.

He starts to call Eric, then Jack, then Eric again, but can’t quite do it. 

The pre-season starts soon, so Kent throws himself into training, and puts on 10 pounds in two weeks. The guys know something’s up, but they also know to give him space, so Kent works and trains and eats and sleeps and cuddles with Kit and talks to the regulars at his local bar and where it used to be enough, he hates it now.

He _hates_ it. 

Kit winds her way around his ankles even after he fed her and Kent crouches to scratch under her chin. She looks up at him, one brown eye and one blue eye and Kent smiles, “What do you want, huh?”

Then he stops.

She nips gently at his finger and wanders away and he kneels in his kitchen and finally, finally, asks himself the same thing.

  


#

  


So he calls. 

When Jack picks up he says, “Kenny,” so warmly that Kent is embarrassed to feel his eyes prickle.

“So, uh,” he says, takes a deep breath, “you guys want to talk?”

There’s a squawk of the speakerphone and then it clicks off and Eric’s voice is in his ear. “Normally I’d say yes, but this time I have a better idea.”

  


#

  


Eric’s better idea, it turns out, is Kent flying into Providence, and them all going out to a quiet dinner in a private dining room at Mamma Maria, and they all get a little tipsy and talk about nothing.

Kent’s heart races the entire time, but it feels more natural than it probably should.

After, they take the car Kent has booked back to Jack’s apartment.

When the front door closes, Kent says, “Now what?”

Eric’s smile is equal parts shy and smirk. “What do you want?” he asks.

Kent is frozen in place a second and then his brain says _fuck it_ and he surges forward, pushing Eric up against the door. “Is this—Are you okay? Is this okay?”

“Yes,” Eric breathes and his eyes flicker over Kent’s shoulder. 

Behind him, Jack rumbles, “Yes,” and it’s all Kent needs to lean down and lick Eric’s mouth open. He can feel the heat of Jack’s body close by, and suddenly there’s a big hand on his hip, tugging the tail of Kent’s shirt out of his waistband. 

“Yes,” Kent says, into Eric’s mouth, “yes,” and Jack huffs a laugh against the nape of his neck. 

Eric’s eyes open and they’re almost black. “Bedroom,” he says, “Now.”

Kent remembers what Jack said, that Eric knows how to push at the right times, and he shivers a little at the rasp in Eric’s voice.

In the bedroom — which is mostly bed, jesus, did Jack buy a California King because he was planning on having a threesome? — Eric opens up the buttons at his collar and says, “Anyone can say no at any time.”

Jack nods and already has his tie in his hands, winding it around his fingers. 

Kent’s eyes stick on it and his throat clicks when he swallows and Eric laughs. 

“Maybe next time, Kenny,” he says, and Kent loves the sound of it in Eric’s drawl, loves how warm and thick it is and he suddenly realizes he’s going to have all of that warmth, and all of Jack laser focus, directed at him. 

It’s almost too much. But not enough to make him want to stop.

Eric tugs Kent to the bed, slides behind him and fits his lithe body against his back. “Jack, baby, get undressed for us.”

Jack smiles a little shyly and strips economically, and somehow the anti-strip tease is the sexiest thing Kent has ever seen. He can’t stop staring at Jack’s body, the caps of his shoulders and curve of his lats. He’s huge, bigger than he was at Samwell, and easily twice the size of the boy Kent fell in love with ten years ago.

Eric puts his mouth against Kent’s ear. “It’s overwhelming, right?”

Jack laughs and Kent swallows hard because his mouth has literally gone dry at the thought of getting to touch him, either of them, both of them. 

Jack bends to strip off his briefs and when he stands Kent sees stars. His ass and thighs are thick, corded with muscle, and his cock curves up and away from his body, the foreskin already pulling back from the slick head.

“What do you want?” Eric asks Kent and Kent wants to touch both of them but he doesn’t know how. 

“Fuck,” Kent breathes, and then Eric’s nimble fingers are unbuttoning Kent’s shirt. “Wait,” Kent says.

They both freeze. 

“No, I want to see…I don’t know. I want to see you touch him. First.”

Eric slides off the bed and kneels in front of Jack. Jack doesn’t move, even when Eric’s breath ghosts over his dick and Eric murmurs, “Good boy,” which sends a bolt of electricity right through Kent’s core and into his own dick. 

Eric slides his hands up Jack’s thighs and Kent’s mouth waters. “Say it,” Eric says, and Kent says:

“Bite him.”

Eric bares his teeth and sinks them into the quads of Jack’s left leg. Jack makes a noise and Kent makes a noise and then Eric is lapping at it gently before biting again, closer to his adductor and _fuck_.

Jack’s dick jumps and Kent’s never been so hard in his entire life. 

“Kent,” Eric says, not looking at him, and Kent understands, somehow, scrambles out of his clothes.

“Look at you,” Jack says, and Kent doesn't blush, not anymore.

“I grew up,” he says. 

“Yeah.” Jack licks his lips and Eric laughs. 

“Go on, then,” he says, “I want to see the two of you now. Why don’t you ask Kent what he wants, even though I’d bet good money I already know.”

Jack walks him back until Kent is sprawled on the bed under him. “What do you want, Kenny?” But the question is too much.

“Zimms,” Kent rasps, unable to stop the words, “I’m sorry I couldn’t give you what you needed.”

Jack smoothes down his cowlick. “I’m sorry I expected you to be able to. It’s not your fault.”

Kent’s eyes sting. “Is this what you were looking for?”

Jack nods. “I think it’s what you need, too. You still good?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he laughs and swipes a hand over his eyes. “I can’t believe I’m still so fucking hard.”

Jack just looks at him a second, then leans down and kisses him. His mouth is softer than Kent remembers, and his tongue is firmer, more direct. Kent groans and tries to touch him but Jack holds him down, pins his wrists to the bed and takes his time, until Kent can barely breathe.

He pulls back. “What do you want, Kenny?”

Kent shoves his hips up, feels Jack’s dick leaking on his belly. “Suck me.”

“Thank the lord,” Eric murmurs and Kent laughs wildly. How is this is life.

Jack licks his lips and says, “I couldn’t agree more.”

Kent lays back against the pillows and sprawls his thighs open, letting Jack’s huge shoulders wedge between them. It’s almost painful and Kent loves it.

Jack’s mouth is perfect, hot and wet and he remembers how Kent likes it, slow and tight and slippery. Even better, the position puts Jack's ass is up in the air and Eric alternates nipping at it and smoothing his palms over it, parting his cheeks every now and then and pushing his face between them, making Jack hum. 

Eric looks up and licks his lips deliberately at Kent and Kent thinks this must be how he dies, having to choose between a scorching blowjob from Jack Zimmermann or having watched Eric Bittle give Jack a rimjob. Fuck, _fuck_. 

Then Eric reaches for lube and Kent adds watching Jack get fingered to the list of things they have to do next time.

Next time, if he doesn't spontaneously combust right here. 

“I gotta touch you, honey,” Eric says, and Jack makes an agreeable noise around Kent’s cock that travels into Kent’s balls. 

Kent knows the second Eric pushes his fingers inside Jack, because Jack’s mouth goes slack around him, drool pooling in Kent’s pubic hair. 

Eric catches Kent’s eye over Jack’s shoulder and when Kent’s hips jerk up, Eric pushes his fingers in and in, rocking Jack further onto Kent’s dick. The head bumps the back of Jack’s throat, and Jack coughs a little.

Kent gentles him with a hand in his hair and Eric nods. 

Jack rocks back, then forward again with the motion of Eric’s hand, and the noises are unbelieveable, the slick slide of Eric’s fingers inside Jack and the wet smack of Jack’s mouth around Kent.

Every time Kent is close, Jack backs off, and Kent’s chest is heaving. “How did you know?” he says, and Jack’s laugh breaks off into a groan before he recovers. 

“We’re more alike than you’d like to think,” Jack says and then he hangs his head, mouthing at Kent’s cock and pushing his ass up. “Bits, _please_ ,” he says. “Please.”

Eric looks right at Kent. His face is red and his hair is sweat dark at his temples but he waits. 

Kent wants. He wants to suck Eric’s dick and he wants to fuck Jack and he wants Eric to fuck him and he wants to be tied down while the two of them fuck and refuse to touch him for hours. He has no idea where this is all coming from, but it’s like once the floodgates are open it’s all coming out, everything he’s been keeping inside, all the touch he’s been so greedy for from these two specific people.

But he tries to stay in the moment. He takes a breath. And nods.

Eric slicks himself quickly and puts a hand on the small of Jack’s back before he rocks forward, once, twice, again, and Jack almost shouts when Eric breaches him, sweat beading at his temples.

Jack, out of control and completely undone, comes close to undoing Kent, too.

“Suck me,” Kent says shakily and Jack nods, and where his mouth was firm and controlled before, it’s erratic now, swinging between relaxed and drooling and too tight. Kent squirms under him, trying to stay up on his elbows so he can see Eric’s body as it pushes forward. 

They lock eyes and Eric shoves in, hard, sending Kent’s dick into Jack’s slack throat.

“Zimms,” he gasps and Jack hums, firming his tongue and then Kent is coming, hard. “Fuck,” he says, “fuck, sorry.”

Jack pulls back and looks up at him, his mouth red and swollen, and says, “Kenny, Kenny,” like he doesn’t have any other words. 

Kent shimmies down, lets Jack put his head on Kent’s chest, as Eric rocks into him. He reaches between them and palms Jack’s dick and Eric says, “Now, baby,” and Jack makes a strangled noise as he comes all over Kent’s belly and softening dick. 

Kent looks at Eric and says, “Bitty,” and after one more thrust Eric stills, too, pushing his forehead against Jack’s shoulder. Kent is burning up, his skin prickling with heat from the inside, everywhere that Jack is touching him.

He puts his head back, just for a second, and when he blinks Jack is on one side of him and Eric is on the other, and Eric is cleaning him with a warm washcloth. 

“Zimms if you wanted less competition for the Cup next year,” he says, slowly, dreamily, “I feel like there were easier ways.”

Jack snorts. “The only way I want that Cup is beating you on the ice for it.”

Kent rolls his head to look at him. “I feel like there was a time when we couldn’t have joked about this.”

“I’m a genius, y’all,” Eric says matter of factly. “You both just need a firm hand.”

“Oh is that all?” Kent says and reality is starting to set in, a little, because he can’t help himself. 

“You’re thinking so damn loud, you might as well spit it out.”

Kent barks a laugh. “I want…I want this. With the two of you. I just don’t understand how this is supposed to work? Like, what now?”

“Let’s just see where it goes, Kenny. We can’t plan for everything.”

Kent arches an eyebrow. “Says the guy with the anxiety disorder and a color-coded sock and underwear drawer.”

“Says the guy who said fuck it and decided to become the first out NHL player.”

“Point.” Kent pushes himself up on his elbows. Eric is sitting next to him and combing his hand through Kent’s hair, and Jack looks up at him with that stupid little half grin that’s always crumbled Kent’s resolve on the best of days. “So okay. We see where it goes.”

Eric looks down at him steadily. “Is that what you want?”

Kent winks at him and waits for Eric to roll his eyes and Jack to huff an exasperated laugh before saying, as seriously as he can:

“Yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from _GMF_ by John Grant:
> 
> You could probably say I'm difficult.  
> I probably talk too much.  
> I over analyze and overthink things.  
> Yes, it's a nasty crutch.
> 
> I'm usually only waiting for you to stop talking  
> So that I can.  
> Concerning two-way streets, I have to say  
> That I am not a fan.
> 
> But I am the greatest motherfucker  
> That you're ever gonna meet  
> From the top of my head  
> Down to the tips of the toes on my feet.
> 
> So go ahead and love me while it's still a crime,  
> And don't forget you could be laughing  
> 65 percent more of the time.  
> You could be laughing  
> 65 percent more of the time.


End file.
